


paper rings

by heartunsettledsoul



Series: Forgotten Moments [26]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, It is what we deserve, Mild Smut, Prom Fluff, because that was the s4 finale idk what you're talking out, canon compliant through 4x16, featuring some much needed jb and betty bonding, just straight up prom fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28805697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartunsettledsoul/pseuds/heartunsettledsoul
Summary: At his perch on the window seat—from which Alice is trying to remove him—Jughead smirks, eyes alight. “Actually, I’m going to have to agree on this one Betty. I definitely want to see you walking down the stairs in all your glory.”“Traitor,” she accuses.He kisses her on the cheek goodnaturedly on his way out. “Humor me, if not your mom. And,” he says in a lower tone, “I’m not opposed to seeing what’s under the dress ahead of time while it’s on.”or, prom fluff. wherein prom is directly after 4x16.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Series: Forgotten Moments [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/840687
Comments: 39
Kudos: 142





	paper rings

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact, I reluctantly attended both my proms and thoroughly hated them. nobody was murdered at my junior prom, though. 
> 
> anyhow. this is just straight up self-serving prom fluff & mild smut. we deserve it. and yes I used taylor swift lyrics again. sue me. 
> 
> (posting this at midnight after a relatively large glass of wine, so... excuse any typos. I will get to them in the morning.)

_ I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings  
_ _ That's right  
_ _ Darling, you're the one I want, and  
_ _ I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this _   
\- Paper Rings, Taylor Swift

* * *

Sometimes Betty thinks she falls more in love with Jughead every time she looks at him; it’s not that she notices new things to love, but that she learns to appreciate his idiosyncrasies and features more and more with each look. She loves his over-expressiveness that he can’t always catch in time to not give himself away, the nervous tic of rubbing at the back of his neck, the small crease between his brows from frowning in concentration, the swoop of his hair both under and out of his beanie, the soft gleam in his eyes when he catches her looking at him. 

“Can I help you, Betts?” That gleam is there now, full of mirth, and he barely suppresses an affectionate, teasing smile. 

In her defense, Betty had zoned out in thought—she just so happened to have zoned out while staring at the pen trapped between his teeth as he edited an essay. He removes the pen, tapping it thoughtfully against his bottom lip. 

“Am I distracting you or something? Have I paralyzed with you desire?” His faux innocence sets her off in giggles. 

“Not anymore, you haven’t.” Betty tosses a throw pillow at him which he blocks by lifting up his laptop as a shield. When he retaliates with the pen cap, she is prepared for an all-out war with an entire vanity top of makeup tools but they’re interrupted by the bedroom door opening. 

“Does nobody  _ knock  _ in this house,” Jughead grumbles. 

(Alice, decidedly, does not. They always lock the door when otherwise occupied but there are not-infrequent inconveniently-timed visits right  _ before  _ they might lock the door. 

And, Betty knows, a time where Jughead had been rehearsing answers for his college interviews and her mom had stood at the door without him noticing long enough to have detailed critiques for him. 

He hasn’t quite gotten over that one, it appears.)

Her mom waltzes in, carrying Betty’s prom dress in her arms—which Betty only now realizes had disappeared from its location on the back of the closet door. 

“I steamed it for you,” Alice explains. 

It is a superfluous gesture, but a gesture nonetheless, and Betty fights a lump in her throat. 

With a critical gaze, though, she carries on. “I would have thought you’d be further along in getting ready, darling.” 

Betty rolls her eyes. “I  _ am  _ getting ready, Mom, I am showered and I’ve dried my hair.” 

“Then out, out, out.” Alice rounds on Jughead, who looks startled. “You can’t see her before she’s all done up.” 

In the back of her mind, Betty wants to counter with  _ I’m pretty sure that’s only for wedding dresses, Mom,  _ but the thought hums pleasantly and she decides to keep it for herself—something to return to another time. 

Jughead, confused, asks, “Where am I supposed to put my suit on?” 

Her mother replaces the dress on the hook for the suit bag and holds it out to him, dangling on one extended finger. “Your problem to figure out, Jug-Head.” 

“ Mom,” Betty huffs. “Leave it be, I want to spend time with Jughead where we’re not both doing homework for once. We  _ live  _ together, he’s seen my prom dress already.” 

“But not  _ on.  _ You deserve your princess moment, darling.” 

Betty gags internally. At his perch on the window seat—from which Alice is trying to remove him—Jughead smirks, eyes alight. “Actually, I’m going to have to agree on this one Betty. I definitely want to see you walking down the stairs in all your glory.” 

“Traitor,” she accuses. 

He kisses her on the cheek goodnaturedly on his way out. “Humor me, if not your mom. And,” he says in a lower tone, “I’m not opposed to seeing what’s under the dress ahead of time while it’s on.” 

Betty whacks him, cutting glances to Alice at the door. “What?” he teases. “We  _ live together.”  _

Alice huffs now, turning on her heel. “You have 30 seconds to follow me out of here, Forsythe Pendleton.” 

“ _ Oooh,”  _ JB hoots from the hallway. “Middle named and everything.” 

Betty can see him flip off JB on his way out, before JB slips in the doorway, looking shy. “Do you want any help?” 

Betty’s expression softens and she beckons her in. “You can hold my hair back while I curl sections, but only if you want,” she hedges. JB is often prickly with her and her sistering tendencies. Betty misses Polly and sometimes forgets to rein it in with JB, who is not at all like Polly. (Which Betty means only in the most positive way.) 

JB nods and Betty shows her how to gather the sections together to then pass off to Betty and her curling wand. They sit in comfortable silence until Betty finishes, after which JB looks a bit awkward. “Can I still hang out in here? I know I’m a poor substitute for Jug, but—” 

Betty cuts her off. “You are not a substitute, you are your own person, Jones or not.” JB chews her lip, hiding a grin in the same way that Jughead always does. Betty elects not to mention this. “And trust me,” she says in a conspiratorial voice, “You are far better to be in here with than Veronica. I would have had to sample 8 different lipstick colors by now if she were helping me get ready.” 

JB’s grin is infectious. 

Given that Betty actually  _ is  _ wearing something special for Jughead under the dress, she puts it on in the bathroom with the doors closed. The cut doesn’t allow for a bra anyway, and she has to finagle with an absurd tape-like thing Veronica supplied, and Betty decides this would have been far too unsexy for Jughead to have helped with. 

On the  _ bottom  _ though, it’s another story. 

In order to make up for the lack of lingerie on her breasts, Veronica also talked Betty into a—functionally useless—strappy black number that criss-crosses over her hipbones and holds together the smallest scrap of sheer black fabric. If not for the voluminous skirt of her dress, Jughead would have immediate access. 

Which is kind of the point, for  _ after  _ prom. 

It had been the point for this moment, too, had Alice not unceremoniously shooed Jughead from the room. 

Had Betty purchased it with the specific intent of Jug’s head buried between her legs and plucking sharply at the tight bands while she braced herself on the bathroom counter? Maybe. 

Would she torture him with that piece of information the moment she’s able to whisper dirty things in his ear so that by the end of the night, they’re nearly too wound up to function? Absolutely. 

Betty doesn’t much like to be alone with her thoughts, not anymore. Aside from all the opportunities for fooling around, Betty really had wanted that time with Jughead—time by herself only ends with her brain spinning in circles and Jughead keeps all those thoughts at bay. 

(It takes a lot of effort for Betty to not chew on her fresh manicure, a new bad habit she supposes is almost better than her earlier alternative. Veronica will kill her if there are any chips. And she would be frustrated with herself more than anything.)

However, JB is a calming influence in the room. 

Betty is appreciative for her presence versus Veronica’s or Alice’s, if she has to be without Jughead. JB zips up the last bit of Betty’s dress, stretching on her tip toes to do so, and then holds up part of the fluffy skirt so Betty can see what she’s doing while buckling on her heels. 

“Next school dance,” Betty promises her, “If you want to go, I’m all yours for prep.” 

There’s a Jones trademark roll of her eyes when JB replies, “I’ll probably wear jeans if I go at all.” She then considers Betty’s vanity tabletop. “But I wouldn’t say no to learning how to do eyeliner without stabbing my eye out.” 

“It’s a deal.” 

JB opens the door and—there is no other word for it—hollers down the stairs, “PRINCESS COMING THROUGH.” 

Betty can vaguely hear Jughead cracking up and her mother grumbling. It makes her smile. 

And while she does feel silly on her descent, considering her dress has been hanging on the closet door for two weeks, the soft expression on Jughead’s face makes it worth the trouble. Eyes wide, he ducks his head to shake it, as though in disbelief. When he looks back up to her, a dopey smile lights up his entire face, one that Betty knows she bears herself. 

He seems to move forward on instinct to reach for her. Betty does the same, drawn to him like always, and rushes the last few steps. 

“Betty Cooper,” he whispers, looking almost shy as he speaks, “You take my breath away.” 

Betty tries to give as subtle a  _ look  _ as possible, taking in his suit and tie. She had gotten used to his Stonewall uniform, almost mourning the way his shirt molded to his shoulders and his tie doubled as great leverage to yank him forward for a kiss. And as a makeshift blindfold. And bind. 

The suit is on another level though, its crisp black sending her thoughts skittering toward  _ wedding tuxedo  _ and she has to reel herself back. The tie’s subtle floral patterns has threads that could be a direct color match to her dress and the attention to detail fells her. His hair is a bit unruly under the hat, a byproduct of her inexpert knitting, but it is fresh and clean enough with the new knit that she couldn’t care less that he has it on. She just cares that he’s  _ here.  _

“Jughead Jones,” she sighs, “the feeling is mutual.” 

He kisses her sweetly, lips tacky against her lipstick, and Betty drags him a bit closer by the jacket lapels to really do her feelings justice. When throats clear behind them, she reluctantly releases him—and his lip from her teeth—but fire flashes through her when there is a smudge of dark pink on his mouth. She reaches up to wipe it away with her thumb and, if she’s not mistaken, Jughead only just stops himself from taking it into his mouth. 

Another throat clear. And then a gloating, “ _ Now _ aren’t you glad I made you wait?” 

_ Not really,  _ she wants to grumble. Because if Jughead had seen her like this a few minutes ago, Betty would likely be bent over the bathroom counter right now. 

In her rush to get them out the door and alone, Betty sticks herself with the pin of Jughead’s boutonniere twice in the process but waves away her mother’s offers of help. This she wants to do herself and it’s satisfying to see it pinned straight; Jughead slides the elastic of her corsage over her wrist easily and presses a kiss to the pin-pricked fingers before resting her hand on his chest so the matching flowers align. 

It’s silly how much the image makes her heart jump. 

Jughead draws her close again, whispering, “Betts, you are stunning.” The awe in his voice endears her; it is pleasantly surprising how much they can still be  _ this  _ blown away by each other. Betty feels light as air, almost as though they have travelled back in time to those first embraces and first kisses when everything felt monumental and life changing and full of promise. 

It is refreshing to not feel the weight of everything, just for these few, quiet moments. 

Betty rests her cheek against his. “I love you so much.” 

Jughead nips lightly at her earlobe. “And  _ I  _ love how incredible your tits look in this dress.” 

Okay so maybe there are _ some _ advantages to being past those tentative early days. 

A few feet away, JB coughs. “Leave room for the holy spirit, you two.” 

Jughead snorts and reaches over to muss her braids, yanking down her tied bandana. “Punk,” he says affectionately. 

“Nerd,” she tosses back, ducking away when he tries to come for her again. 

Betty tugs on his arm. “Juggie,” she chides. “Let’s at least get pictures before you beat up your little sister.” 

Across the room, JB sticks her tongue out at him. 

They get through a handful of bright flashes and Alice’s incessant posing instructions before Jughead’s hand wanders low on her back, first rubbing light circles on the revealed skin, then lower still to grab a handful of her backside. 

Again, Betty leans in to call him out, hyper aware of their audience. “You’re incorrigible.” 

“You love it,” he teases. 

(She does.)

She loves it the entire drive to the Pembrooke, as Jughead drags his fingertips up and down the swell of her breasts, sparking goosebumps across her chest, and yanks her close to his side on the bench seat of FP’s pickup. Heated up herself, Betty splays her palm over Jughead’s upper thigh and rubs the fabric of his suit pants between her fingertips. 

“You look handsome, Juggie.” 

His responding smile is bashful and she remembers that same shy shrug of the shoulders when he came to pick her up for Jason’s funeral. 

How far they’ve come. 

“I can clean up,” he jokes. “But only for you.” 

At a red light, Betty squeezes his thigh gently and leans up to place a kiss at the corner of his mouth. Jughead turns to meet her full on and she inches her fingers higher, swiping her tongue over his lips. His other hand, now idle on the wheel, drops to the same location on her leg but pushes to the dip between them; when his fingers are hindered by the layers of her skirt, he groans in annoyance. Betty takes the opportunity to palm him and Jughead’s breath comes out in puffs against her mouth. 

“Mean,” he accuses. 

Betty’s smile splits Chesire-wide, echoing his words from earlier. “You love it.” 

(She  _ knows  _ he does.) 

A horn blares behind them, startling Betty enough that she presses her heel against his hard cock and Jughead sucks in a breath. His heated glance means they speed the last few miles to the Pembrooke and the moment he throws the truck into park, he yanks her into his lap. There is a lot of tulle to combat with, but Jughead is nothing if not determined. 

And Betty is nothing if not willing to help. 

Directing his hands under the skirt, Betty is too distracted to notice his head dropping to the soft skin between her breasts. The effect of his hot mouth and warm fingers has her squeaking, until his steady ministrations mellow the noise to moans. 

He plucks at the lace. “I like these,” he murmurs. 

“You can’t even see them.” 

“Doesn’t—mean—” he punctuates each word with a sucking kiss and a thrust of his fingers, “I— don’t— _ fucking—”  _ a bite to skin he uncovers from sliding the dress strap over an inch and a pinch to her clit “—love—them.” 

More words whispered in her ear, both filthy and loving, have Betty falling apart on his fingers. He makes a noise of protest when she reaches for his belt. “Betts, I cannot come inside my prom tux before we even get to prom. That is one more high school cliche I am happy to avoid.” 

“What a terrible predicament,” Betty hums. “If only there were some other way to handle this.” 

He blinks rapidly, understanding. “If you’re sure—” 

“More than.” Betty reaches inside her small clutch to pull out a tube of lipstick. “I have reinforcement, Juggie, they’ll be none the wiser.” She knows he is already sold on this, there’s no reason not to; the parking lot is empty and dark. But it  _ is _ prom night and Betty feels like laying it on thick. Just for the sake of it. “Let me blow you,” she coos. “Let me suck you off in your prom tux to tide you over until you can come on my tits tonight.” 

Jughead slumps back on the bench, groaning. “ _ Fuck,  _ Betts.” 

She holds her hair to one side and undoes his fly, then pulls him out and runs the flat of her tongue against him. “That’s the idea, Jug, be patient.” 

__

When they are presentable again and at the front door, Betty presses the buzzer. She is greeted with a shriek of static. “Come up,” Veronica yells excitedly. “I need to see how hot you are.” 

Jughead leans in, replacing Betty’s finger on the button. “I didn’t know you were so taken in by my charm and good looks, Veronica. What would Archie say?” 

“Oh, go fu—” 

He releases the button, grinning. Betty cuts him another glance and he raises his hands in surrender. “She’s just so easy to rile up.” 

Veronica looks  _ more _ than riled up when she opens the door, though in a way that Betty takes to mean she and Archie were having just as much trouble keeping their hands to themselves as they had been. Her lipstick is far darker than Betty’s and thus shows up far more on Archie’s mouth than Betty’s pink on Jughead’s—which is still quite noticeable after their adventures in the parking lot. 

“You got something there, Jug,” Archie heckles. 

“Take a look in the mirror, man.” 

Archie does and goes red. Veronica rolls her eyes and hands him a tissue. 

“Honestly,” she sighs, “The trouble we go through for these men.” 

Both protest but are silenced by their respective girlfriends’ raised eyebrows. 

“Alright, Jones,” Veronica says. “I trust you with the camera most, so get some shots of me and my girl here. And—” she gives him a shrewd look, “If you’re going to zoom in on places, do so on your own phone, not mine.” 

Betty snorts when Jughead whips out his phone, at the ready. “Don’t you dare,” she warns. But then relents, telling him, “Later.” And mouthing,  _ If you’re good.  _ Jughead’s throat bobs with a hard swallow. 

Archie looks distinctly uncomfortable and Veronica crows. “You’re not allowed to defile the limo, or you’re detailing the interior yourself.” 

“A small price to pay.” 

  
  
  
  


“ You know,” Jughead muses. “You  _ almost  _ can’t tell this place usually smells like gym socks and crushed dreams.” 

Betty rolls her eyes. “Killjoy.” 

“I would never.” At the lack of teasing in his voice, Betty turns. Jughead gazes at her, sincere. “I wouldn’t take this night from you, Betty. You deserve as great a senior prom night as we can get.” She can’t let herself answer genuinely or she’s afraid she might finally splinter, and start crying right here on the makeshift dance floor. Jughead seems to understand, though. “You’ve even got a date who’s gonna put out. Lucky you.” 

She snorts in laughter and lets him pull her arms up to loop around his neck. Jughead presses a kiss to her cheek and she can feel his lashes flutter closed against her skin. 

“I love you, Jughead Jones,” she tells him, just because she can. 

Jughead definitely senses the tears and keeps cracking wise. “Well I should hope so. I don’t put out for anything less than complete and utter devotion, Betty Cooper.” He then locks up his posture and gently pushes Betty back to leave space between them. “For the holy spirit,” he smirks. “Can’t be seen doing anything untoward.” In a lower voice, he murmurs, “That’s what Veronica’s limo is for. Or the Blue and Gold.” 

Betty smiles, warmth flooding through her both from happiness and arousal. “Or both,” she counters. 

“After a few dances. I want to show off my gorgeous girlfriend to everybody first. Like I said,” Jughead ducks down and presses his lips under ear, “Your tits look amazing. Everybody is jealous of my view.” He chuckles at her responding blush. “You’re  _ hot,  _ Betty Cooper. Own it.” 

They get swept up by their friends, though, everybody chomping at the bit to let loose.  _ Loose  _ as in just lounging around in their finery and eating snacks and drinking seltzer, temporarily without a care in the world—though Toni, Kevin, and Veronica do surreptitiously pass around a flask. 

Betty is content to listen to them all chatter, to poke fun at Kevin’s overdramatic toast to their final inglorious glory days (“Thank god,” he says, standing on his chair to raise his spiked glass, “that none of us peaked in high school!”), to watch Veronica’s efforts to teach Archie the waltz with club beats in the background, to rest her head on Jughead’s shoulder and gaze up at decorations she (thankfully) did not put up herself.

When the first slower song comes on, Jughead tugs Betty to her feet before she even thinks to do so herself. “Are you, Jughead Jones,  _ excited  _ to dance? At a  _ school function?”  _

He pulls on one curl and makes a face. “Don’t tell anybody, Betty Cooper, but I, too, can be a victim to the Riverdale pep.” His hands come to the dip of her waist and his expression softens. “Anything for you, Betts.” 

Betty kisses him, an easy reach with her heels, and winds her arms around him. “Thank you, Juggie,” she whispers. 

He rests his forehead against hers and Betty lets her eyes slip closed. 

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> as ever, I would love to hear what you think, and I hope you enjoyed


End file.
